Whatever Makes You Happy
by BSparrow
Summary: She's not their usual type but that's not going to stop her from trying to find a way into their life. Murphy/OC/Connor eventually, no slash, just a fluffy story rated for future smuttiness.
1. Chapter 1

Let me just start off by saying that I'm not really a "beer girl".

I don't particularly enjoy the taste of it. If I'm being honest, I prefer embarrassingly girly drinks with vodka or rum. So really, there is no reason for me to spend so much time at McGinty's sipping flat beer. But I'm there all the damn time.

Why, you might ask?

Well, I'll tell you. It's because of this damn-fine Irish dickhead who barely gives me the time of day but who I still find myself drooling over at the most inopportune moments. He's always there, laughing and boozing it up with his equally attractive twin brother. They have quite a following at McGinty's. People love them and I am no exception. But I'm not close to them; I can't seem to find my way into their inner circle. I'm not one of the girls they take home at the end of the evening.

I'm the weirdo who sits alone at the bar, fending off drunken come-ons from men I don't even see because I'm so busy staring at Murphy.

Tonight, he's sitting alone, nursing a beer and half-way listening to the rambling of his hairy Italian friend. I can hardly hear the guy but it sounds like he's telling some kind of joke about cantaloupes and goats. I don't even want to know.

I'm lost in watching the way Murphy's long fingers rub the condensation off his sweaty glass when someone stumbles into me from behind, almost knocking me off my stool.

"Sorry, sweetheart," the man mumbles, moving on without a second glance.

Fuck. I stand up, feeling cold beer trickling down my back. So gross. I have to go to the bathroom and see if I can clean myself up. I spare a glance across the bar but Murphy is gone. Well, this night is going straight to hell.

I stumble a bit as I round the corner for the bathroom, cursing the dim lighting and uneven wood flooring.

And there he is. The object of my obsession.

He is slouched against the wall, smoking and peering up at the ceiling blankly. I can't help but to swallow hard, trying to still the iron butterflies pummeling my stomach. On wobbly legs, I creep closer to him, smiling a bit weakly when he glances my way.

"Hi," I say softly, my voice sounding a bit croaky to my own ears.

He acknowledges me with a dip of his head, blowing a cloud of smoke over my head.

"Waiting for someone?" I ask, looking up and down the hall curiously as I lean into the wall beside him.

"Aye," he answers softly around the cigarette dangling from his lips, his eyes raking across me.

I can feel my cheeks growing hot under his scrutiny so I clear my throat, searching my muddled brain for something, anything, to say.

"Your brother isn't around tonight?" I finally ask.

"Oh, he's around," he chuckles and it sounds like a cat purring as he jerks his head towards the door beside him.

I lean forward to look around him and frown when I see he's motioning to the door that leads to some kind of storage closet.

"Oh…uh, okay."

I try to urge my feet to move on past him and in the direction of the ladies room but they won't go. His cool, blue gaze has me pinned to the spot even though it's clear that nothing is coming of this clumsy interaction.

Then his hand shoots out and grabs my arm and I could swear that I'm going to die. Honestly, my knees go a little weak when his rough fingers stroke slowly down my inner arm to my wrist, his eyes never leaving mine. His hand closes around mine, tight around the fingers and I feel the breath leave my lungs. Then I feel him flip my arm over, his eyes dropping to the watch around my wrist.

He takes one last drag as he releases me, dropping the cigarette to the floor and stubbing it out with the toe of his boot. Then he flashes me a knowing, crooked smile as he opens the door beside him and steps inside. I catch the slightest glimpse of him shedding his pea-coat before the door closes firmly behind him. There's a stern click as a lock is slid into place from the inside.

I stand there in shock for what must be a good two to three minutes, staring at the empty space where he'd stood. Where he'd stood and touched me. My skin is positively tingling from the contact. It's pathetic but I'm still a little weak in the knees.

I slide a little closer to the door, pressing my ear to it curiously. I can hear the faint, muffled sounds of something keening, moaning. What the hell? Is someone giving birth in there? Are they slaughtering an animal?

The low sounds of masculine laughter and grunting reach my ears next and suddenly it's clear exactly what they're doing in there. A female voice cries out sharply and I jerk away as if I've been burned. My feet suddenly find the will to move and then I'm running for the bathroom.

* * *

I'm embarrassed to admit that even that incident doesn't turn me off Murphy in the slightest. If anything, it turns me on more, damn him. I'm still sitting at the bar when the brothers emerge a little over half an hour later looking a bit rumpled but overly satisfied with themselves.

The crowd has thinned a bit but the people left are rowdier than ever. They greet the brothers as returning heroes so I guess it's obvious to everyone what they've been up to. An anonymous blonde girl stumbles out from behind them on wobbly knees and heads straight for the door, keeping her head down and ignoring the laughter her disheveled appearance incites.

I can feel my face burning again as Murphy catches my eye and grins. Jesus Christ, he must think I'm such an idiot. I guess I was the only one who didn't know he was waiting around to join in on a threesome with his brother. The only one who thought it might be a good time to chat him up. I have never been so embarrassed in my entire life.

I stare down at my beer, suddenly feeling a little sick. I don't even want to drink this shit. What's the point? I just want to go home. I push it away and when I look up, he's still looking at me but he's suddenly right next to me, perching on the empty stool to my left.

I jerk back in surprise and that mysterious, crooked smile is back.

"Everything alright, girlie?" he asks with that delightful Irish accent, leaning against the bar and watching me fumble with my wallet.

"Fine, everything is fine," I mutter, my fingers trembling.

"You look a little…" he shrugs, gesturing lazily with his hands as if he can't find the word he's looking for.

"Yeah," I shrug too, still feeling that nauseated ache in the pit of my stomach, "I feel a little…whatever, so I'm heading home."

"You walking?" he asks, tapping his fingers absently against the wood. My eyes are drawn to them but I finally manage to nod and he grins, climbing to his feet, "Well then, let me walk you home."

For a moment, I just stare at him in shock.

Finally his brow arches and I have to ask, "Why?"

His eyes narrow slightly as if he can't figure me out, "Why not?"

I can't think of anything else to say, so with a giddy feeling bubbling in my chest, we head out the door together, chased by a myriad of catcalls from his brother and friends. I distinctly hear his brother calling out "Two in one night, Murph?" and I'm horrified but Murphy waves them off with a smirk and then we're out in the cool, quiet night air. Alone. Together.

And…I still don't know what to say.

"I don't think I've ever caught your name," Murphy says as we head off down the sidewalk, lighting a cigarette and offering one to me.

I don't really smoke but I nod anyway and he passes the lit one to me before lighting another for himself.

"Nicole," I answer quietly, feeling the burning in my lungs as I inhale and struggling not to cough.

"Nicky alright?" he glances over at me and I nod, "How far to your place, Nicky?"

"A few blocks," I reply, managing to exhale a puff of smoke without coughing, only to be utterly impressed by the neat little smoke rings floating away from him, "How do you do that?"

"It's all in the tongue," he answers mischievously, winking at me when I look up at him.

"Impressive," I say simply, unable to come up with anything else.

He watches me for a few steps, I can see him out of the corner of my eye as he nods and says, "Aye."

All too soon, we're in front of my apartment building and I'm fumbling in my pocket for my key. He leans his lanky form against the door, chewing on his thumbnail, and I'm horrified as he watches my trembling fingers struggle to unlock the door.

Finally, I manage to insert the key and the lock gives way. He smiles, reaching behind him to twist the doorknob. The door swings open and he steps aside, bowing slightly and motioning me into the hallway with a flourish.

"Thanks," I answer hoarsely, squeezing past him through the doorway.

I'm so close to him I can feel the heat radiating off his body and smell the faint scent of beer and cigarettes and something deeper and muskier.

He closes the door behind us and clears his throat as I start for the stairs.

I turn to him in surprise, taking in his raised brows and expectant look, "What?"

He snorts, "Well, can I come up?"

I freeze, unsure of what exactly he's asking. Then I ask myself, does it matter? If there anything he might want from me that I wouldn't be okay with? Hell no. I'm just dreading trying to continue making small talk with him when I clearly can't think straight with him nearby. But at this point, surely he doesn't expect sparkling conversation out of me.

I bite my lip and he looks as if he's about to say something but I finally agree, "Sure. Come on up, it's just the second floor."

I hurry up the stairs and spare a glance over my shoulder as I hear his heavy footsteps following me. He's so blatantly staring at my ass that I can't help but giggle a bit hysterically. He doesn't even have the decency to look ashamed; he just smiles rakishly up at me.

Unlocking my door is another awkward struggle but he is mercifully silent. I hurry inside, dropping my purse by the door as I flick on a lamp. I hear him taking off his coat behind me but when I turn, he's standing much closer than I'd expected. I gasp a little and he chuckles at me, tossing his coat past me onto the coffee table.

"I-I'm just going to go…" I motion towards my bedroom and he nods as I start to back away, "Make yourself comfortable, you know. There are drinks in the fridge if you want something."

I hurry into my room, frantically checking my hair and makeup and wondering if I should change into something "more comfortable" or if that would be too weird, too obvious. I hear rustling in the kitchen and the squeaking of the refrigerator door opening.

"You don't have any beer?" he calls out as I'm dragging a brush through my hair.

"No, sorry, I don't like beer!" I answer absently, shivering at the thought that he's actually standing in my kitchen right now.

He doesn't say anything and I finally open the door, halfway satisfied with my appearance. He's leaning against my kitchen counter and looking pretty damn smug.

"What?" I ask curiously, my hands automatically dropping to tug at my shirt self-consciously.

He moves towards me, "You don't like beer, eh?"

"No," I say a bit breathlessly as he stops just a step away.

"So tell me why you spend so much time at McGinty's drinking them, eh girlie?" His lips twist up into a smirk as his eyes burn into mine.

I don't know how to answer that but I don't think he expects me to. He slides his hands around my waist, his skin searing hot against mine, and yanks me against him roughly. My hands grapple for purchase, settling on his biceps. I can feel the muscles flex under the thin material of his sweater.

He ducks his head, his lips stopping just a breath away from mine as his eyes search my face. I'm practically limp in his arms, overwhelmed by the nearness of him.

Then his lips are touching mine, lightly at first, just testing the waters. And then they're surging against mine, rough and hot and wet. I can feel the rough stubble on his chin rasping against my skin. His hands slide up my back, yanking at my hair and my head falls back with a moan, my lips opening to his. His tongue slides against mine, and that's it. My knees actually give out. So embarrassing.

He clutches me tight against his body to keep me upright, his free hand on my ass pressing my pelvis into his. He grinds his hips slowly, deliciously against mine, forcing me to feel the scorching heat and the growing hardness there. I moan again and the desperate sound erupting from my own throat barely manages to break through the haze in my brain.

His mouth breaks away from mine as he takes a ragged breath, firm hands still holding me upright as I gasp for air.

"I should go," he murmurs, pressing his forehead to mine, his breath hot against my face.

I feel the stab of disappointment, of self-doubt, "Why?"

"Don't want to be starting something you won't be able to finish," he chuckles, that gravelly purring sound that makes my mouth water, and I can feel the rumbling in his chest.

"What?" I say stupidly, my poor brain still too overheated to process his meaning.

"I don't think you're that kind of girl," he says, his hands slowly leaving my body as if he's waiting to see if I can stand on my own again, "Are you?"

My knees are like jelly but I manage to stay upright as he takes a step back, "What kind of girl do you mean?"

He smiles as if I've just confirmed his theory, "A one-night-stand kind of girl."

My gaze drops to the floor, to his heavy boots, well-worn and lazily tied. I don't know what to say. I don't want him to leave. More than anything, I want him to stay. But not if it means being with him would only be a one-time thing. I know I'm too greedy for that. To know what he sounds like, smells like, and feels like when he's fucking me but then never have it again? Better to have never had him than to have him once and then lose him, right? Fuck.

I finally manage a nod and his fingers slip under my chin, tilting it up until I'm looking him in the eye. He's still smiling, damn him. He leans in, pressing a quick kiss against my lips before crossing the room to pick up his coat.

He pauses at the door, looking at me over his shoulder for a moment before calling out, "See ya around, Nicky."

* * *

I hardly sleep that night. I lay awake for hours, tossing and turning, throwing the sheet off and then tugging it back over me. My feet kick against the mattress, frustrated and disappointed as I replay the night's events in my head. When I finally drift off, I dream of him and wake up sweaty a few hours later when my alarm goes off. Damn him.


	2. Chapter 2

"What the hell did he mean by that?" I whine, picking at my lunch without any real interest.

My friend sighs, already sick of hearing about this, "What did he say again?"

I hurry to repeat our whole conversation from the night before and she listens intently, stopping me when I get to the "you're not the one-night-stand type" part.

"He obviously knew you weren't the fuck-and-run type, you know? He probably knew you would get all clingy if anything happened between you two," she shrugs, finishing off her Diet Coke.

"How could he possibly know that?" I sigh, dropping my head into my hands.

"I'm guessing he's been around," she says with a wry grin, standing up to dispose of her lunch, "Stop obsessing over it and come on."

* * *

Easier said than done, of course. It's all I think about for the rest of the day until I find myself wandering home in a daze. I nearly get myself killed, stepping off the curb without even looking out for passing cars.

I make it home in one piece though, and immediately plop myself in front of the television to zone out for a few hours. But I just can't get my mind off him. I find myself wondering if I should go to McGinty's tonight or not. Would it seem desperate? Or would it seem like I was embarrassed and trying to avoid him if I didn't go? Oh, damn it. I'll probably end up embarrassed either way. It seems to be my constant state now.

As the afternoon wears on, I know I'm going. I can't resist the chance to see him again, even if that means just sneaking surreptitious glances at him from across the bar like I've been doing for the past two months.

On autopilot, I fix myself up and head downstairs, still lost in thought. I'm busy trying to come up with something to say to him if he is there. Something witty and flirty and flippant. Unfortunately, I'm coming up short.

"So why didn't you go through with it then, ye fucking tease?"

I pause halfway down the last staircase, a familiar Irish accent freezing me in place. The front door of the building is propped open with Mrs. Greene's hideous bulldog doorstop and my two favorite brothers are standing on the stoop with their backs to me. What the fuck? Am I hallucinating?

"I had every intention of going through with it, that's why I fucking went upstairs with her!" Murphy huffs, exhaling a stream of smoke into the air and shifting his weight from foot to foot impatiently, "But then I got up there and…"

The rest of his words are muffled by a slow delivery truck rolling by out on the street and, in my head, I curse the driver for all I'm worth.

"Ye think she's a virgin?" Connor asks him, sounding slightly awed.

Murphy scoffs, "Nah, she was too up for it to be a virgin."

Oh, God. This is mortifying.

Connor is laughing, "Aye, but she seems like a nice girl. Nothing wrong with that."

I see Murphy flick his cigarette to the sidewalk as he says sarcastically, "Yeah, nothing wrong with that at all."

Just then, they both turn and see me frozen on the staircase, probably looking a lot like the proverbial deer caught in the headlights. I force myself to carefully pick my way down the last few steps, shivering as an icy blast of air whips through the open doorway.

"Uh…hi?" I say uneasily, my eyes flitting back and forth between the two of them.

They're wearing identical sunglasses and matching shit-eating grins that tell me they're not at all ashamed to have been caught discussing my sex life.

In unison, they say, "Hi."

Then Murphy steps forward to extend a limp piece of clothing I hadn't even noticed he'd been holding.

I take it without even looking down, "W-what is it?"

"It's yours isn't it?" His brother drawls, his forehead wrinkling.

I finally manage to tear my eyes away from Murphy and look down at the garment clutched in my white-knuckled fist. My gray cardigan. Oh, yeah.

"Doc said you left it at the bar last night," Murphy grumbles, scratching the back of his neck and looking distinctly uncomfortable.

I find out the reason behind that pretty quickly as his brother claps him on the shoulder and says with a broad smile, "Yeah, ye were in too big a hurry to take me brother home to remember it, weren't ye lass?"

My jaw drops and I literally can't think of a single thing to say to that.

Murphy elbows Connor hard in the ribs and Connor smacks him on the back of the head. I'm half-expecting their little scuffle to escalate into a full-scale brawl but it doesn't.

"T-thanks for bringing it to me…" I finally manage to stammer out, still clutching the cardigan out in front of me awkwardly.

Murphy just nods as Connor pipes up again, "Ye headed over to McGinty's now?"

My eyes flash from Murphy to Connor and back again, my mind racing, and I force myself to shake my head, "Uh, no. I'm on the way to meet a friend."

I can feel the blood already rushing to my cheeks and I wonder if they can see right through me. Probably. I'm a terrible liar.

Connor pulls off his sunglasses and tucks them haphazardly in his pocket, "Are ye really now?"

I just nod.

"This friend of yours...does she live close by?" Connor cocks his head, staring at me with an appraising look that makes me feel completely exposed.

"Not far, just uh- just a few blocks away."

They exchange a mysterious look and before I can even begin to contemplate what it means, Connor smiles, "It's getting late, let me walk ye there while me brother heads back to the bar."

* * *

Murphy heads off in the direction of McGinty's, mumbling and shaking his head, and I have to wonder why the hell I'm doing this to myself and just what the hell I'm in for. Connor is quiet for the first few minutes but I can feel him watching me.

"How old are ye, lass?" he finally asks, stepping aside to let an old lady shuffle by on her walker.

"25," I answer automatically as we continue on our way, "You?".

"27. Are ye from Boston?"

I shake my head, "Moved here after college. I'm from Providence."

"Aye," he replies thoughtfully, and it's quiet again for a few steps.

"So, do ye always take strange men home from bars?" he wiggles his eyebrows at me and I know he's just teasing but I still feel a flare of anger.

"Do you and your brother always double-team girls in storage closets?" I raise a brow.

He looks taken aback but also maybe, just maybe, a little impressed with me for standing up to him.

"Uh, no, see that was a first, lass," he laughs, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking away from me, "Not our finest moment, aye?"

I don't know if I believe him but I can't figure out why he'd lie to me about it.

"Well, what happened with your brother was a first for me too," I shrug, kicking an empty can out of the way as we stroll along.

He nods and we continue on in silence.

"We getting any nearer to your friend's place, lass?" Connor says suddenly, peering around us uncertainly, "We've walked almost nine blocks now."

Damn it.

"Oh yeah, it's just up here," I say, my eyes searching wildly until they fall upon what looks like an apartment building just ahead.

I force myself to jog up the steps, my legs feeling like lead, and stop with my hand on the doorknob.

Connor lingers down on the sidewalk, looking amused as he says, "Well, go on in, lass."

I frown, hating him for a moment and feeling a twinge of dread as I twist the doorknob hesitantly. I'm not a religious person by any means but I'm praying like hell that it's unlocked. To my relief, it slides open with a squeak.

Turning back to Connor, I smile triumphantly and say, "Well, thanks for walking me, Connor."

He's still eyeing me with a wry grin that I just can't read but finally he nods and turns to walk away.

I'm about to step inside when he calls out over his shoulder, "When you're done catching up with your insurance agent, you should drop by McGinty's."

What? I feel a cold bolt of fear shoot through me as I turn and look inside and sure enough, it's a fucking insurance company's building. A janitor with a mop is staring at me suspiciously from the hallway.

And just like that, I'm praying again. Praying that a massive sinkhole will open up right here, right now, and swallow me whole.

* * *

"This girl had me marching nine fucking blocks for nothing! Nothing! Pretends she's off to visit her friend and she takes me to a fucking insurance company!" Connor is roaring with laughter as he tells the story to the whole damn bar, clapping me on the back to further emphasize my complete and utter humiliation.

The men at the bar are roaring now as well, like a bunch of hyenas. Everyone is laughing at me except for Murphy. I've decided that Murphy is my angel. He's watching me with a little smile on his face as he takes a swig of his beer but he's not laughing at me and for that I am eternally grateful.

Connor turns to me, gasping for breath, and seems to take note of my painfully red cheeks.

He makes a sympathetic sound and wraps his arms around my shoulders, crushing me to his chest as he says, "Aww, come on, lass. Don't be so hard on yourself, we're just teasing ye, aye? All in good fun!"

I don't even pretend I'm going to reply. I just bury my scorching face in my hands and continue praying for the sweet mercy of death.

"Doc, get this lady a beer! On me!" Connor calls out jovially, with his arm still slung over my shoulders.

"She doesn't like beer," Murphy pipes up for the first time, draining the last of his drink.

I glance up to see Connor frowning at him, "What do ye mean she doesn't like beer?"

Murphy shrugs and motions to Doc for another bottle. The old man complies cheerfully and Murphy stands, making his way over to me.

He leans down close to my ear and says, "Come on, I'll walk ye home and ye can have one of those fruity concoctions in your fridge."

I smile up at him gratefully and he pats my shoulder as I slide off the stool.

"Wait on your dear brother, Murph, and I'll come along," Connor motions to Doc for his own bottle and grins over at me, "Somebody has to make sure ye keep your filthy hands off this nice girl."

The whole damn bar is tittering as we leave together and I figure I'll never be able to show my face here again.

They tuck their bottles under their coats and take covert sips when they think no one on the street is looking. Somehow we manage to make it back to my apartment without any problems and without me further humiliating myself.

The two of them perch on my sofa as I make a beeline for the fridge and crack open a bottle of Smirnoff Ice. I drain half of it while I'm standing in the kitchen, hoping it will somehow make things better.

"Well, come on then, lass! Don't hide in the kitchen when you've got company!" the ever-tactful Connor calls out and then I hear him murmur to his brother quietly, "She's an odd one, aye?"

Yeah, the alcohol isn't helping. I wander back into my living room and find them both lighting cigarettes, mirror images of each other in every action. They both lean back at the same time and exhale puffs of smoke.

"Want one?" Murphy offers, extending his cigarette towards me as I settle into the armchair across from them.

I contemplate taking it just because it's him offering but I finally shake my head.

"Don't tell me…ye don't actually smoke either?" he asks with a bemused smile.

I shake my head, "No. But I'm thinking about taking it up."

"Don't. They'll kill ye," Connor interjects, taking a particularly deep puff from his own.

Then it's quiet again and I wonder what the hell we're supposed to do now. I chug down the rest of my drink, relieved at the slight loosening sensation I can already feel spreading through my limbs.


	3. Chapter 3

A few drinks later and I'm the life of the fucking party. Well, not really, but I am more relaxed and I'm no longer in danger of spontaneously combusting from too much blushing.

My Smirnoff Ice disappeared pretty quickly and, with no other options available to us, we've delved into my supply of wine. The boys shot me matching looks of disdain when I pulled it out of the cabinet but we finished the first bottle pretty quickly and then cracked open a second. Now we're sitting on my living room rug, passing a half-empty bottle around and feeling a little giggly.

"We should play a game," Connor suggests before tipping the bottle back and taking a long gulp.

"What? Spin the Bottle?" Murphy suggests, nudging his brother with his elbow when Connor doesn't pass the bottle to him.

I scoff at that idea as Connor suddenly sputters, "Truth or Dare! Truth or fucking Dare!"

Great, just great. I haven't played Truth or Dare since sixth grade when it was played at every single sleepover. The worst dare anyone could come up with back then was forcing someone to call their crush and leave an embarrassing message of his answering machine. As my gaze drifts to the tattooed deviants in front of me, I'm suddenly aware that playing with them may be slightly more treacherous.

"No, that's a terrible idea," I complain, earning a frown from Connor, "You only play Truth or Dare to humiliate people. Haven't I been humiliated enough for one day?"

"Aye," Connor laughs, then places his hand over his heart as if that would somehow convince me of his honorable intentions, "But this will be fun, we won't be asking ye to strip down or anything, that's a promise."

I roll my eyes, "No kidding, why would you?"

Murphy swipes the wine from Connor and fixes me with a curious look, "Well, you're a girl…we're boys…"

"Men," Connor corrects him in a serious tone that is slightly undermined by the way he's slumped against the sofa.

"But I'm not exactly Pamela Anderson, am I?" I snort in a rather unladylike fashion.

"So?" Murphy frowns at me but I just shrug so he continues, "You're a pretty girl. I wouldn't have kissed ye if ye weren't."

He winks at me and I hear myself blurt out, "I'm average."

My tone is a little sharper than I'd intended and even through my alcohol-induced haze, I feel a little rush of embarrassment. I duck my head to hide my unease with the whole damn conversation and struggle to light one of Murphy's cigarettes, just to have something to do. Damn shitty lighter.

He heaves a long-suffering sigh and plucks it from my clumsy fingers, presses it between his lips, and lights it like the pro he is. I mumble "thanks" and reach out to take it back but he's too quick, lifting it back and over his head with a little smirk playing on his lips. I lurch after it before I realize his intention and find myself stretched over him with my hand on his thigh. His warm, hard thigh.

I jerk my hand away, my head suddenly spinning, and fall back on my ass with a strangled squeak.

"Well, let's get on with the game then," Connor chuckles, "Truth or dare, lass?"

"Truth," I mutter rather predictably, staring at the floor.

Murphy's hand, recognizable by the word Aequitas inked into his skin, creeps into my field of vision to offer the cigarette back to me. I glance up at him suspiciously and find him smiling.

I finally manage to snatch the cigarette from his fingers as Connor bursts out with, "What possessed ye to lie to us today?"

"What?" I glare at him, feeling my heart start to pound against my ribs.

"Come on. The truth now, lass. Why did ye feel the need to lie to us and drag me nine blocks for nothing?" Connor repeats with a crooked grin, suddenly looking more sober than he had just moments before, and the thought crosses my mind that he's digging for something deeper than what he's actually asking me.

I look over at Murphy and find his gaze downcast, focused on lighting yet another cigarette.

My mind is racing, scrambling desperately through its alcohol-dulled outer reaches in search of some sort of reasonable explanation. None is forthcoming.

I just shrug and, after a moment of consideration, tell the truth, "I don't know. I was just feeling really awkward after what happened last night," I glance up at Murphy again but he's still looking down, "and then you two surprised the hell out of me and I wasn't really thinking. Sorry."

Connor shrugs, "No harm done, lass. But we'd appreciate it if ye'd be honest with us from here on out, aye? We value honesty."

I nod, "Does that mean you two are going to be honest with me as well?"

Connor tries to look offended, "We're always honest, lass!" when I scoff at that he nudges Murphy, "Ye hear this, Murph? Tell her! We're good boys."

"Aye, good boys," Murphy agrees.

"Sure. Truth or dare then, Murphy?" I grab the bottle of wine from him, suddenly needing it more than ever.

He meets my eyes and I almost melt into a puddle when he purrs, "Dare."

Shit. I can't think of anything to have him do. It's not like I can ask him call his crush or ding dong ditch the neighbors. Connor sees my hesitation and scoots over to consult with me, leaning in a bit closer than is strictly necessary to whisper in my ear. I'm genuinely disturbed to find myself swooning just a little when I catch his scent on the warm air between us. Jesus Christ, I need to get a hold of myself or all of this blood rushing back and forth in my body is going to kill me.

Connor announces the dare for me, having decided on it himself, "She's painting your toenails ye fucking poof!"

* * *

Murphy's vehement protests go ignored and ten minutes later I'm sitting in front of him with his foot propped up in my lap, my fingers wrapped around his ankle as I carefully spread red polish over his toenails. My hands are a little shaky, both from my inebriated state and the fact that I'm actually touching him, but thankfully he doesn't seem to notice. He's too busy shaking his head and muttering under his breath about never hearing the end of this.

Meanwhile, Connor is off fulfilling his dare of running down to the corner store in my tightest, frilliest, pinkest blouse. I'm a little concerned that neither he nor my top will make it back in one piece.

"I think one foot is enough, don't you?" I glance up at Murphy to find him studying my handiwork.

"Aye, more than enough," he agrees, wiggling his toes and making me giggle.

Emboldened by the evening's events, I can't resist tickling the sole of his foot. He jerks it away with a startled bark of laughter and when his smoldering eyes meet my own, I know it's on.

"Oh, you're in trouble now, girlie," he mutters, moving with feline grace onto all fours to pursue me as I back away.

The giddy feeling in my chest erupts into nervous giggles as he quickly pins me to the floor. Honestly, I don't put up much of a fight. My body is suddenly on fire at every point of contact and I can feel his breath, warm and wet and boozy as it brushes across my face.

"Let's see where you're ticklish at, shall we?" he smirks down at me, running his fingers down my arms.

"I'm not," I reply stubbornly, but even I can hear my voice tremble as his hand skates over my exposed underarm.

"What did we say about the lying?" he arches a brow, squeezing my wrists where he has them pinned to the floor over my head.

I keep my mouth shut, nearly biting right through my bottom lip when his fingers brush against the curve of my breast on their way down my sides.

"Oops," his smile leaves no doubt that it was completely intentional.

There is a moment of electric tension as his eyes burn into mine and his fingertips brush along the curve of my waist. His face drops closer to mine and I just know he's going to kiss me again. But then his hand reaches my hipbone and I gasp as my brain short-circuits. Mangled laughter escapes from my lips as I try to wriggle and arch away from the relentless, agonizing pressure of his fingertips against the one place I'm ticklish. He's relentless but he's laughing with me.

"No, no, stop it! Stop!" I beg, trying to roll away from his childish onslaught as the door swings open.

"Ye heard the lass, Murph, hands off," Connor says cheerfully, kicking the door closed behind him as he strolls into the room with an overstuffed paper shopping bag.

Murphy rolls back onto his heels and clears his throat before climbing to his feet. I'm left sprawled out on the floor with Jell-O for bones and desperately missing the weight of his body over mine.

"Have a nice trip, did ye?" Murphy asks his brother as he extends his hand to haul me to my feet.

"Aye. Got hit on twice, I did," he replies proudly, dropping the bag onto my coffee table as he pulls my shirt off with an audible rip.

Naturally, he's reluctant to put his own shirt back on. Boys will be boys, after all. I spend the rest of the evening trying not to stare at well-defined muscles and thatches of dark hair leading to unmentionable places. The boys persuade me to cook them a frozen pizza as they watch a really, really terrible sci-fi movie on my grainy TV. And at some point, we all fall asleep.

* * *

I awake to an excruciating pounding in my head. It's truly, truly awful. I can barely open my gritty eyes and when I do, the sunlight streaming through my window sends another sharp jolt of pain through my skull.

I groan, my whole body aching as I roll over to face away from the visual assault, and come eye to eye with…

Holy shit.

Murphy is stretched out on his side right next to me, his arms cradling his head and his chest steadily rising and falling in sleep. Jesus Christ, he looks like an angel.

And then it's all coming back to me. The night before…the wine…the tickling…the pizza.

I dare to glance around my living room and find it's just as bad as I would have expected. Connor is stretched out on his stomach on my sofa, looking just as angelic as his brother, but pizza crusts, dirty dishes, ashes, and lots of empty bottles are strewn across my coffee table. Dirt and broken leaves are scattered across my white carpet where Connor knocked over my potted plant. And…is that my pink shirt hanging in tatters on the lamp? Great.

I climb to my feet as quietly as possible and my head pounds with a renewed vigor as I stumble into the kitchen and grapple blindly for something, anything to dull the pain.

The rattling of pills in their plastic bottle is deafening. I wince but manage to shake two into my palm, then another for good measure, and chase them down with a glass of water. Then I lean my forehead against the cool steel of the refrigerator and wait for the agony to ebb away.

"Hair of the dog, girlie."

It's agonizing, but I manage to turn towards the croaky voice to find Murphy standing in the doorway, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"What?"

"Hair of the dog," he brushes past me and opens the refrigerator, pulling out the lone beer leftover from Connor's late-night trip.

He cracks it open and takes a long gulp before passing it to me. My stomach turns at the very thought of consuming beer at this time of the morning, with this kind of headache, but I lift it to my lips and take a weak little sip. Ugh, it's even worse than I thought.

He snorts at my pathetic attempt and takes the bottle back from me, wandering back into the living room.

I grab a garbage bag and trail behind him in silence, watching as he kicks Connor awake rather perfunctorily. They speak quietly in a language I don't understand as I kneel down to clear the mess from the coffee table. I pause when I realize they've fallen silent and look up to find them staring at me with inscrutable expressions. I nearly drop the fistful of crumpled cigarette butts I'm clutching when Murphy lifts his shirt to casually scratch his stomach.

"What?" I frown at them, suddenly feeling a little annoyed at how perfect and un-rumpled they look when I know for a fact that I look liked death warmed over.

"We're going for breakfast if ye'd like to come along?" Connor offers, pulling his shirt on over his head.

I look at them and then at the room around me, head still pounding viciously, and nothing sounds better than sitting down somewhere for a huge, greasy breakfast. But would that seem a little desperate? Do they really want me to come or are they just being nice? Am I overthinking this?

"No, you two go ahead. I'm just going to clean up," I finally force myself to say, dropping my gaze back to the mess at hand.

They put on their coats and head for the door. Connor ruffles my already mussed hair as he passes then gives me a crooked smile from the doorway when I glare up at him and try to smooth it down. Murphy just looks at me over his shoulder and shakes his head as the door swings closed behind them.

And then it's just me and a bag of garbage and silence. My apartment suddenly seems so cold and quiet without their overbearing presence and loud Irish voices.

I lean back against the sofa and cover my face with my hands, rubbing my eyes and trying to process it all.

But then the door swings open with a bang and I instinctively squeal in shock. To my relief, and also horror, it's just Murphy.

"Put on a pair of fucking shades and get your ass downstairs, girlie," he orders sternly, sliding on his own sunglasses as he speaks.

I don't need to be told twice. I drop the garbage bag and dash into my room to find a pair.


	4. Chapter 4

For the last few weeks, the three of us have been bouncing off each other like pinballs. We hang out at McGinty's until closing time or we sit around my apartment and get drunk or we wander through the city, smoking like chimneys in the icy winter air. It's all been very friendly and casual. Well, except for the rampant sexual tension which I'll admit is probably just on my part. I get pecks on the cheek, forehead, and sometimes the lips from both boys but it's just in passing. They haven't exactly shoved me against a wall and tried to ravish me. Regardless, I've found myself slowly growing more comfortable in their presence and I'm starting to find my way out of my shell.

So I'm not completely crippled by awkwardness when Murphy shows up at my door early on a rainy Saturday afternoon while I'm still vegging out on the sofa in my pajamas.

"Open up, girlie, open up!" he pounds on the door and does a little impatient dance when I peer at him through the peephole, "Come on!"

I scramble to scrape my hair into a halfway passable ponytail before I let him in.

He storms into the room, grabs up my coat from its usual resting place on my arm chair, and turns to face me as he says, "Let's go-"

The words die on his lips as he takes in my oversized t-shirt and baggy penguin-printed sweatpants, "What the fuck's this then? You're still in your pajamas?"

I roll my eyes, "Murphy, it's like 1 pm, come on. What's going on?"

"It's Doc's birthday," he says matter-of-factly and sighs when I don't react to this scintillating piece of information, "We're going to McGinty's and we're going to drink all fucking day!"

Well, that certainly tops my plan of staying in out of the weather and watching bad daytime television. I hurry to get ready as he stands right outside my bedroom door, tapping his foot and sighing loudly as if that's going to make me go any faster. I nearly poke my eye out with my mascara wand as he bangs on the door to tell me to hurry the fuck up.

"Jesus fucking Christ, I'm ready," I gasp as I burst through the door, still pulling my shirt over my head.

"Lord's fuckin' name," he mutters automatically, eyeing me from head to toe as he tosses me my coat.

As we're going down the stairs, an idea strikes me and I smack Murphy on the shoulder, "We should get him a cake!"

Murphy frowns at me over his shoulder, "What?"

"Doc! We should get Doc a cake for his birthday," I explain as he pushes open the front door to the building, letting in a rush of cold air that nearly takes my breath away, "He's such a sweet old man, it'd be nice."

"Ye think Doc gives a fuck about-" he stops and looks down at me and I must look crestfallen because he sighs, "Okay, we'll get him a cake."

* * *

Tiny raindrops sting my face as we step out of the building and I know it'll turn to snow before the day is over. Without another word, Murphy tucks my gloveless hands into the warm crook of his arm and squeezes them tight against his body as he shoves his own hands into his pockets. I automatically snuggle against his arm, inhaling the scent of cigarette smoke and wool as he ducks his head against the rain and tugs me down the street.

We step into a tiny bakery a few blocks away and the bell over the door rings jauntily to alert a young redhead behind the counter. She glances up and I see a broad smile spreading across her face as Murphy shakes the raindrops from his hair like an overgrown puppy.

"Well, as I live and breathe…Murphy MacManus!" she calls out, standing up and rubbing her hands on her apron.

He stops short, lifting his arm to free my now toasty hands, and the way her eyes rake across his body with a comfortable familiarity tells me all I need to know. I'm pretty sure the girl doesn't even see me as I step past Murphy to peer at the display case full of baked goods. This place smells like heaven, all sugar and vanilla, but I'm too distracted to appreciate it.

She opens her arms expectantly and Murphy steps over to the counter, leaning across it to give her a quick one-armed hug as he murmurs a greeting. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her press a kiss against his cheek as he pulls away.

"Um, miss? Do you have any birthday cakes that are already made up? We're in kind of a hurry." I pipe up, stepping up beside Murphy.

Her eyes gaze falls on me and, to her credit, she manages a rather tight smile as she leads me to the pre-prepared cakes available for purchase. One is covered in pink flowers and the other has yellow roses and green vines winding around the edges. I point it out to Murphy and he wrinkles his nose a bit but nods.

"We'll take this one, I guess. Can we have something written on it?" I glance up to find her staring at Murphy again but she calls out to someone in a back room.

A bored-looking teenager emerges, shuffling his feet as he unceremoniously drops the cake into a box and asks me what I want written on it.

"Happy Birthday, Doc," I tell him and sigh when he asks me to spell it out, "D-O-C."

The redhead is pouting and leaning across the counter towards Murphy like some kind of pin-up model, "You and Connor never come in to see me anymore."

He gives her a slight nod, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. It's something I've noticed that he does when he's uncomfortable.

Meanwhile, the teenager is moving at a snail's pace. I find myself tapping my foot impatiently, my damp shoes squeaking against the tile floor as he carefully swirls out the requested letters.

"Aye, we've been busy," Murphy says with a shrug then brightens up as he asks, "Have ye still got a treat for me though?"

She narrows her eyes at him and mutters, "I shouldn't give you anything!"

But it doesn't take long for him to break her down. She smiles and stoops to retrieve some kind of sugary pastry from the display case, wraps it in yellow paper and hands it over to him. He takes it with a broad smile, giving her a quick nod as I step to his side and deposit the box on the counter near the cash register.

She rings us up without another word and Murphy hands over the cash despite my protests. I tuck my wallet away with a sigh, watching as he attempts to balance the cake box in one hand and his pastry in the other.

"Come see me again soon, Murphy!" she calls out as we're heading for the door and he waves the pastry at her.

It's sort of a relief to be back out in the icy air. It's painfully cold but at least it's free of jealousy-inducing redheads. I glance over at Murphy to find him struggling to balance the cake and unwrap his treat at the same time.

"Give me that," I sigh, taking the box from him and he smiles at me gratefully.

He's tearing into the pastry and getting powdered sugar all over his face and it's adorable but I can still feel that jealousy lingering in the pit of my stomach. I try to smother it or push it away; telling myself it's ridiculous to feel this way because I have no claim on the man. But still it simmers until I have to say something.

I aim to sound neutral as I say, "She was pretty."

His gaze slides towards me and his brows furrow slightly but he doesn't reply. He just takes another bite as we round the corner near McGinty's and then wraps up the rest of the pastry in its paper.

"Too sweet?" I ask, shivering a little as the wind hits us straight on.

He shakes his head and, with a mouthful, says, "Saving the other half for Connor."

I have to smile at that.

* * *

It kind of startles me when I realize that I've become one of the regulars at an Irish pub. I mean, when did that happen?

I'm sitting at the bar with Murphy, Connor, Rocco, Doc, and about five other guys who would be considered McGinty's regulars. And seeing as I know them all by name and spend most weekends with them, I figure that means I'm a regular too. I know it should be weird but somehow it's not because they're loud and hilarious and they feel like family.

We've been drinking here all day like Murphy promised and it's been nice. Doc was surprised and pleased with the cake even though we took some ribbing over the yellow flowers. The last of it disappeared hours ago and, though I hate to admit it, the redhead was a damn good baker.

Now, as I sit here sipping vodka and 7-Up, I find I finally have a moment to myself. Murphy is absorbed in conversation with the other guys. It's loud and theatrical, complete with dramatic re-enactments that are causing uproarious laughter. I can't help but smile fondly as Murphy mimics punching a guy, scrunching up his face to look menacing. It's such a comfortable scene, so unexpected in this dingy pub.

I'm just wondering where Connor has disappeared to when I see him heading back from the bathroom. He catches my eye and nods and I find myself smiling involuntarily, genuinely pleased to see him walking across the pub. It's a smile I can feel take over my whole face as something turns over and clicks into place in the vicinity of my heart. It's not just Connor, it's everything. He smiles in return but looks curious, cocking his head a bit as he joins the crowd around Murphy.

I return to my drink, feeling strangely warm and giddy inside. It really has been a good day even though nothing has really happened. I finish off my glass and when I look up, Connor is standing at my side.

"Want to get some fresh air?" he asks, tipping his head towards the door.

I nod and stand up, feeling pretty steady on my feet considering I've been drinking with a bunch of Irishmen all day. Connor helps me slide into my coat and then holds the door open for me, allowing a gust of icy air into the warm pub.

Outside, I find I was right. Light flakes of snow are drifting down from the night sky, sparkling in the glare of the streetlights, and settling on the ground. It probably won't stick but it's nice while it lasts.

I look up into the dark at all of the white flakes and I have to smile.

"It'll be Christmas soon," I say softly, almost to myself.

"Aye," Connor agrees, peering up at the sky as well with a thoughtful expression, "Ye like Christmas then, do ye?"

I look over at him in surprise, "Doesn't everybody?"

He shrugs, "No, not everybody."

"Oh," I fall silent, pressing my lips together as he toes at a patch of ice on the concrete in front of him.

"Ye do anything special? Go visit your family?"

I shake my head, "No, I just stay here. But I still love the way everything looks when it's Christmastime."

"Aye, it's a pretty sight with all the lights," he nods then says, "Ye don't talk about your family much."

I feel a little twinge at the thought of my parents, "We're not really close. They-they're not the most loving people."

"What d'ye mean by that?" he presses on curiously, tucking his hands in his pockets.

"Well, it's kind of a long story," I answer hesitantly and he nods for me to continue, "You see, my parents are really successful people. My father is a pretty well-known neurologist and my mother is a professor at Brown. So, you know, they're really smart, driven people. And I have an older sister that's just the same way. She's a biomedical engineer and, before you ask, I have no clue what the hell that means. And, you know, I'm just not like that. I've never wanted that kind of life and I've never been that driven about anything. So I'm a huge disappointment to them and they never fail to let me know that in their own special, passive aggressive way."

He shakes his head, making a sympathetic clucking sound with his tongue, "Aye, that's a shame, that."

I heave a long-suffering sigh as I say, "I know. I mean, I've got a degree and I've got a pretty good job. I'm working my way up the ladder, you know? But I might as well be working as a stripper or something for all they care."

Connor chuckles, "Aye, better than us…working in a fucking meat packing plant. But our Ma doesn't care. She'd love us if we were bums. Actually, she loved us when we _were_ bums. I guess we're lucky there."

"You are," I agree, "You're very lucky to have people that love you for who you are."

I turn towards him with a smile but he's closer than I expect and suddenly his lips are on mine. It catches me off guard and my mouth falls open in surprise as I clutch at him for balance. His tongue runs across my bottom lip as his hands move around my waist to span across the small of my back and pull me closer to him. It's a surprisingly gentle kiss, aside from the scrape of his stubble against my skin, but it sends a jolt of electricity running straight down to my toes. I manage to stay upright for once but my mind goes totally blank as my fingers clutch the front of his shirt.

He pulls away from me to take a deep breath, leaning his forehead down against mine, and I have the strangest flashback to his brother doing the same thing the first time he kissed me.

"W-what…what was that?" I gasp, my voice sounding strange and shaky to my own ears.

He shakes his head, his cold nose rubbing against mine, "I-I don't know. I just-ye just…the way ye smiled at me when I was walking towards ye like ye were so fucking glad to see me…"

I exhale a ragged breath and it turns to icy vapor in the air around us.

"It was good though, wasn't it?" he asks in that lilting drawl and I can feel his eyes fall closed, "It felt…right. Didn't it?"

I swallow hard and take a wobbly step back, not knowing what to say. Connor smiles down at me, his eyes impossibly blue with tiny ice crystals clinging to his dark lashes. He's like something out of a fairy tale.

"Oh God, what do I tell Murphy?" I suddenly gasp, the heavy weight of guilt settling in on my shoulders.

Guilt for what, I don't know because we're most certainly not in any sort of exclusive relationship. But still, kissing his brother has to be crossing some kind of line doesn't it?

"Ye don't have to tell him anything, lass. He's not your boyfriend is he?" Connor lights a cigarette and the warm glow of the flame behind his cupped hand dances across his shadowy features.

"I know, but-but I…" I stutter and stop, crossing my arms tightly across my chest.

He looks up, his eyes gaze steady and his voice low as he murmurs around the cigarette, "Ye what?"

"I-" I feel that old familiar blush creeping in to heat up my numb cheeks, "I like him."

Connor just shrugs and pockets his lighter, "Aye. And? Don't ye like me as well?"

I gulp, searching for an answer to that. My head is saying no. No, because you can't possibly like two guys that way at the same time. Not in reality. Especially not when those two guys are twin brothers and you've spent all your time focusing on one of them while the other smolders away like a forgotten ember right under your nose.

So, no is what my head says. But my heart, as corny as it sounds, begs to differ.

I don't even realize I'm nodding until the corners of Connor's mouth curl up in a warm, genuine smile. The same kind I was probably flashing him earlier when I saw him walking towards me.

"Then it's okay. Don't worry about it, lass," he says, reaching out to cup my cheek in his cold hand.

"So-so you don't think he'll mind?" I finally swallow the lump in my throat, leaning into his touch without really thinking about it, "He won't think I'm some kind of slut or something?"

Connor snorts, "No, I promise ye he won't think that. He's a big boy, he knows how to share."

Everything that had been so mixed up suddenly seems so clear. It seems okay. I find that I feel more at ease than I have in a long time, standing here in the quiet darkness with the world turning white around me. I might not know where this is going but for right now, it's okay.


	5. Chapter 5

My eyelids are made of lead. It's so hard for me to force them open but once I do, I immediately close them again and groan pathetically. My head is pounding again, as it always seems to do the morning after a night of drinking with Connor and Murphy.

The first thing I notice is the smell.

Jesus, my apartment is really starting to smell like stale cigarette smoke. It's a little disgusting. Kind of nauseating.

I force my eyes open again and try to sit up, feeling a strange weight around my waist. I glance down and find that it's an arm that has been casually slung over my waist. A tattooed arm. I twist around wildly to see Murphy snuggled up behind me, mouth slack and hair rumpled from sleep.

It's only then that I realize I'm sitting on a strange bed in a strange apartment. And, by the looks of the place, it's their apartment. It's filthy and the threadbare furnishings are starkly minimal in the grey early morning light. It occurs to me, through the throbbing pain in my skull, that this is the first time I've ever been inside their apartment. It's kind of weird considering how much time we've spent together over the last month or so.

So why am I here now? I struggle to remember the night before and suddenly a tidal wave of memories is flooding back into my tender brain. Doc's birthday celebration. Drinking for hours, until things seemed to go black.

Oh, _God_. My gaze drops and I realize that I'm still fully clothed. Okay, so nothing like that happened which is great because I'd want to remember it if it did. I've really got to ease up on the alcohol.

A muffled snort breaks the silence and I jerk my head towards the sound to find Connor asleep on his own mattress just a few feet away.

I feel Murphy stirring beside me, his knee bumping into my hip as he stretches languidly. A throaty groan rumbles from his chest as I scoot over to give him some room. He sits up, coughing a rattling smoker's cough that makes me wince.

"Those cigarettes are going to kill you," I tell him through a yawn, pushing away the threadbare sheet that's tangled around my legs.

He grunts in acknowledgement, jamming the heels of his palms into his eyes as I struggle to climb to my feet.

"Well, look who's back on their feet this morning!" a scratchy voice teases.

I glance over to find Connor stretching out on his back with his hands behind his head. He winks at me and smiles a sleepy little smile when I roll my eyes.

"Aye, ye were out like a fucking light last night, girlie. Had to lug ye home on my back," Murphy sighs, shoving his feet into a pair of boots sitting by the mattress.

"Sorry about that," I murmur, wandering over to their kitchen to open a cabinet, "Thanks for taking care of me though, I guess I just lost track of how much I was drinking."

"Aye, ye were trying to keep up with us weren't ye, lass?" I hear Connor chuckle as Murphy's heavy footsteps clomp towards me.

"No," I tell him pointedly, glancing over at Murphy as he stoops to retrieve a beer from the fridge, "Do you have any aspirin or…anything?"

He shakes his head, holding the beer high as we both say, "Hair of the dog."

He stumbles back to his mattress, leaving me to perch on the nearest chair and face the fact that I'll just have to deal with this splitting pain in my skull on my own. I watch them pass the beer back and forth, sitting on their mattresses and chatting in a strange language. I hate when they do that.

"I'm starving," I finally interrupt them, looking doubtfully towards their sparse kitchen, "Should I try to make some breakfast or something?"

Murphy shakes his head, "No, all we've got is some fucking moldy bread."

"That bread's still good!" Connor protests sharply, shoving the beer back into Murphy's hands.

"It's fucking not!" Murphy shoots his brother a contemptuous look, suddenly wide awake, "It's been out of date for a fucking month!"

Connor huffs out a disgusted breath, "When did ye become such a fucking pansy then? It's still good if ye toast it!"

"It's got fucking fuzzy green shit all over it, ye fucking sick bastard!" Murphy climbs to his feet and Connor mirrors him.

I groan, distracting them before they come to blows over a stupid loaf of bread, "Can we not do this now? I'm going to puke if I don't eat something soon."

* * *

And so we're off to find breakfast, bundled against the chill that's still lingering in the morning air. The snow is already gone but just thinking about it reminds me of the feel of Connor's warm lips on mine. I glance over to find him smiling at me and I can't stop the heat from rushing to my face.

"So," Murphy begins and I look back to him, "I hear ye gave my brother quite the kiss last night."

My jaw drops and I spin around to glare at Connor only to find him reaching around behind my back to shove Murphy playfully. Murphy stumbles a bit but the smile on his face grows even wider.

"Must have been a good one, aye?" he cackles, throwing his arm around my shoulders to pull me in close to him as his voice drops, "Or was it so bad ye felt the need to drink until ye blacked out?"

I groan and elbow him hard in the ribs before I even think about it. He yelps and jerks away.

"Oi, some fucking couple ye two'd make! Violent nutters, the both of ye!" he reaches up to rub his ribs tenderly.

"You're awful, Murphy," I sigh, sidestepping his arm as he tries to wrap it around me again.

"Come on, girlie. Ye know I'm just teasing," he says, finally managing to snake his arm around my waist before his tone turns strangely serious, "Can't let my worthless brother try to move in on my girl without giving him a bit of grief, can I?"

Connor scoffs beside me but I stop dead in my tracks.

"Your girl?" I gasp, looking up at him in shock before the rest of his words sink in, "Wait, what? _What_?"

He just blinks at me before flashing a dark look at Connor. Well, it looks like "enigmatic Murphy" is back. The self-doubt I felt last night is rushing back in.

"But, but Connor said-Connor said you'd be okay with it!" I protest, my eyes jumping to Connor who shrugs helplessly.

"Did he now?" Murphy says slowly, arching a brow.

I nod, turning to look back at Connor again for help. Suddenly I notice the tightness of his jaw and the strange brightness in his eyes. A second ticks by and then, fuck, I realize he's trying not to laugh.

I look back at Murphy and when I see the corners of his lips twitching, I can't hold in my outburst, "You _assholes_!"

They're both cackling now as I smack Murphy's arm with all the force I can manage in my hung-over state and stalk off down the sidewalk. I don't know where I'm going and I don't care. Just anywhere to get away from these two guys who think it's so hilarious to play with people's emotions and string girls along like they don't matter.

"Nicky! Nicky, wait for us!" I hear them call out in unison just behind me but I forge ahead.

Steam is practically shooting out of my ears like something out of a fucking cartoon. I step off the curb without a second look but before my foot hits the pavement, a strong pair of hands is yanking me backwards. Half a second later, a bus hurtles by just a few inches away from us with its horn blaring. I fall back against a broad chest that I somehow know belongs to Murphy, feeling very much like I might pass out for the second time in 24 hours.

* * *

"I still can't believe ye tried to off yourself over a fucking joke, lass," Connor laughs around a mouthful of bacon.

I glare across the table at him and stab my fork into my food with a bit more force than necessary. Yeah, everything is a fucking joke to them.

"Well, I still can't believe you did that to me!" I retort huffily, turning my glare on Murphy.

He takes a sip of coffee and shakes his head, "Ye know we didn't mean anything by it."

"It's just not something to joke about," I say more quietly, feeling defensive, "I just never know-"

I cut myself off quickly and stuff a forkful of egg into my mouth but I've already caught their attention.

"What do ye never know, lass?" Connor asks, dipping his head to catch my eye.

I shake my head, "I never know where I stand…you two are so damn weird and confusing."

Connor frowns, "Didn't we talk about that last night?"

I look up at him in surprise, "I don't know…not really. Not enough. And anyway, it all turned out to be a big joke this morning!"

Murphy sighs irritably, "We weren't joking about…that…we were just joking! Like, in general! Christ!"

My fork is clattering against my plate before I even realize I've dropped it, "Well how am I supposed to know that?"

"Because we're telling ye now," Connor says in a tone I know is meant to pacify me, reaching across the table to pat my arm.

The waitress bustles by to pour more coffee and I exhale noisily, reaching up to rub the bridge of my nose between my thumb and index finger. My head is still aching but I don't know if there will ever be a better time for this discussion. And it's certainly one we need to have because if we don't, I'll probably go crazy and actually get flattened by the bus next time.

"What we talked about last night…" I begin shakily, "Is that for real? I mean, did that mean what I think it means?"

"About sharing?" Connor's brow is furrowed as he glances over at his brother.

I note the look they exchange and shrug, "Yeah…"

I can only hope he understands what I'm asking because I'm not entirely sure myself. They're both sporting matching thoughtful expressions and suddenly I'm worried that maybe I overestimated the significance of Connor's words.

"Aye, I think it meant what ye think it meant," Connor agrees, "And what do ye think about that?"

"Are we talking in some kind of fucking code now?" Murphy suddenly interrupts in a loud whisper, leaning in closer to be part of our conversation.

I would laugh at that but I'm busy thinking. I look at Murphy and then at Connor, into two pairs of intensely blue eyes, and try to measure what I'm feeling. Honestly, it's too complicated for me to process in a diner with a hangover. Maybe I'll never be able to process it or make any kind of quantitative evaluation of the situation. I could list out the pros and cons but I don't think it would get me anywhere.

So I decide to do what everyone does when their brain fails them. I go with my gut.

"Yes, I think I would maybe be okay with that," I finally agree, feeling a little smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

Connor nods slowly, his smile mirroring mine. And then Murphy is tossing a bit of his piece of toast at me and snickering at my surprise.

I brush the breadcrumbs off my shirt and take a deep breath before I say, "So…just to clarify…we have an agreement that I'm free to pursue a relationship with both of you at the same time and you're both okay with that?"

They look a little taken aback to hear it laid out in such blunt terms.

"Well, it's nothing as formal as all that, to be sure. We're not talking marriage and it's not exactly in writing," Connor scoffs, "But aye, I suppose that'd be the gist of it."

Murphy nods his agreement and adds, "Aye, real casual-like, ye know? It's just…whatever makes ye happy. Whatever makes all of us happy."

Whatever makes us happy. I guess I can deal with that.


	6. Chapter 6

It's been almost two weeks since our big discussion and to be honest, not much has changed. Sure, Murphy and Connor have gotten a bit handsier but it's not like we've had any romantic romps in the closet at McGinty's.

Still, having the undivided attention of two beautiful men who have both made it clear that they like me is doing wonders for my confidence. I think they're surprised by how forward I can be now that I'm feeling sure of myself and where I stand with them. I still feel more comfortable kissing Murphy but I'm definitely getting used to the idea of Connor. He makes it easy. Those eyes…

"Nicole?"

I glance up, my manager's voice jarring me out of my daydreams. This has been happening way too often lately.

"Your phone is ringing," he says pointedly, motioning to the phone on my desk before he walks away, shaking his head.

I jerk the handset up and say automatically, "You've reached Ron-tech. This is Nicole, how may I help you?"

"Uh, yes, Nicole, I have a problem and I was wondering if perhaps ye could help me," a familiar voice drawls, bringing a smile to my face.

"And what is your problem, sir?" I answer, ducking my head to hide the goofy smile that is rapidly taking over my face from the prying eyes of my co-workers.

I try to maintain some degree of professionalism in the office.

"Ye see, my brother and I, we'd like to take this lovely lass out to lunch today but we don't know where to take her. Might ye have any suggestions?" he asks and I can hear Murphy whispering something in the background.

"That's not really our specialty here at Ron-tech, sir," I start giggling and barely manage to rein it in when my manager looks over at me again, "But if you want my humble opinion, I think she'd probably enjoy that sandwich place-"

Connor cuts me off, "The one on the corner past her office, aye?"

"Yes, that one," I agree quickly as I see my manager starting towards me.

I hear a scuffle on the other end of the line.

"And do ye reckon she'll be there around noon?" Connor calls out loudly and seemingly from a distance.

It sounds as though Murphy is trying to grab the phone out of his hands.

"Yes, I'm sure she will. Okay, sir, I hope that helps. Goodbye now," I say quickly, putting down the phone just as my manager reaches my desk.

"Nicole, I need to see you in my office."

Fuck.

* * *

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this."

I'm trying to be serious but that flies right out the window as Murphy starts jumping up and down like a little kid, whooping and pumping his fist to celebrate his big win.

"Kicked your ass, little brother," he says proudly, smacking Connor hard on the back then dodging away before he can face any retaliation.

He slides into the seat next to me, reaching over to squeeze my knee before he chugs down the rest of his beer. Sure, it's watery and the pizza here is like cardboard but no one seems to care and I'm having more fun in this dingy arcade than I ever expected. It was a hell of a walk to get here but the boys are having so much fun playing these stupid games that I've decided that it was totally worth it.

"Oh, fuck off. I know ye cheated, ye always do," Connor grumbles good-naturedly, kicking the loudly dinging machine once for good measure before heading off to get another beer.

Murphy bites into a slice of pizza before finally addressing me with his mouth full, "It wasn't too hard to convince ye, girlie. Ye practically jumped at the chance to skip out on your dickhead manager after we took ye to lunch."

"I did not! You bullied me into telling him I got sick during my break and then dragged me here against my will," I protest, almost choking on my food, "And I was already in hot water after your little phone call this morning."

"Ah, poor baby," he smirks and knocks his leg into mine under the table before wiping tomato sauce from his lips with the back of his hand.

"You're right, though. I was dreading going back after lunch," I admit with a sigh, dropping my half-eaten slice onto a flimsy paper plate, "But you two are going to get me into so much trouble."

"Why is that, lass?" Connor asks, returning to the table with what looks to me like a glass full of foam, "What have we done now?"

I shrug, "Nothing, it's all on me. When he called me into his office to lecture me, he said he could tell that I've been distracted lately and I know it's true. I guess I've been focusing more on other things."

I raise a brow at Connor and he grins, wiping the foam from his upper lip.

Murphy shrugs, "Ye can't work all the time, can ye? You're allowed to have a life for Christ's sake."

I nod and take a sip of my cola, "I know and it's nice to finally have one."

He winks over at me and just then I feel Connor's foot brush against mine under the table. I look up at him in surprise and he smiles, casually running the toe of his boot up my shin, lifting my pants leg with it.

I giggle as he moves his foot around to rub firmly against my calf muscle and Murphy looks over at us skeptically. He lights a cigarette, eyeing me with a raised brow as heat floods into my cheeks under his scrutiny.

"The fuck? Are ye playing footsie?" he ducks his head under the table to peer at our feet and then there's a brief scrapple as he slides down in his chair to kick out at Connor's legs.

"Wanting to join in, aye little brother? Fucking weird if ye ask me," Connor taunts him and then I'm completely forgotten as Murphy tosses a pizza crust at his brother.

I might as well be dating a couple of twelve year olds.

* * *

"That's it, I can't walk anymore," I tug at Connor's hand, clinging to it for balance as I stop to rub my aching feet.

If I had only known we were going to be walking across the whole fucking city I would have worn better shoes to work this morning. But my admittedly inexpensive heels are killing me and I don't think I can go on without serious podiatric damage.

"We're halfway there, lass," Connor says helpfully, steadying me as I sway a bit on one foot.

"I'm sorry, I just can't. Maybe if I take my shoes off?" I suggest, wrinkling my nose at the thought of walking on the freezing, filthy sidewalk in bare feet.

Murphy rolls his eyes, "Fuck no, it's freezing out here."

I'm looking around for somewhere to sit down when Murphy stoops over a bit, turning his back to me.

"Well, what are ye waiting for, girlie?" he says after a moment, "Hop on, then."

Connor is shaking his head, "Ah, never fear, lass. Mr. Fucking Chivalrous is here."

I'm not sure how to climb onto someone's back; it's been a long time since I've had a piggy-back ride. So I wrap my arms around his neck hesitantly and he hoists me up his back with a grunt, hitching my legs over his hips and tucking his wrists under my knees.

It's a surprisingly comfortable fit.

"Okay?" he asks over his shoulder.

I crane around to give him a peck on the cheek and tell him, "Okay."

I snuggle my face into the warm crook of his neck, inhaling the smell of him but trying not to be totally creepy about it. He smells, predictably, of cigarette smoke and the yeasty tang of beer. But beyond that, the smell of his skin is intoxicating. If I could bottle "Murphy" and sell it, I'd make a fortune. I'll admit I'm a little lost in it and I don't even realize they've lapsed into another language until Connor's voice rises sharply.

I lift my head and realize that it's suddenly grown dark and the two of them are talking quite heatedly in a beautifully fluid language that sounds to me like it might be Spanish or Italian. I've got to ask them how they know all of these different languages. I keep forgetting and it's driving me nuts trying to figure it out. But that thought fades away when Connor's face grows red and he throws his hands up in the air.

"What the hell is going on?" I ask, arching forward to try to see Murphy's face.

"Ah, it's nothing, girlie," he sighs and pauses to hoist me back up his back from where I've slipped a bit, "Just something we saw on the news earlier."

"What was it, Connor?" I reach over to touch his shoulder as best I can, considering my position.

He shrugs a little irritably but his voice is calmer when he speaks, "Just a fucking news report about some fucking bum who broke into an old woman's house and beat her with a baseball bat. Only got twenty fucking dollars and the old lady nearly died."

"Oh my God, did they catch the guy?"

"Aye, they caught him alright. And gave him a year in jail. One fucking year! Can ye believe that?" Connor exclaims, raking his fingers through his hair anxiously.

"Oh my God, that's awful," I squeeze onto Murphy tighter and he rubs his scruffy chin against my arm, "Did you know her or something?"

"No, it's just a fucking shame is all," Connor replies, kicking a discarded can violently and sending it clattering out into the street, spinning wildly.

I'm still contemplating Connor's reaction when Murphy stops walking and announces, "Ah, well, here we are."

I look up and realize we're standing in front of my apartment building. He lets me slide down his back and onto my feet. I wince as my full weight lands on wobbly heels.

"Thought ye might want to change your shoes before we went to McGinty's," he tells me, but his eyes are on Connor.

Murphy reaches up to scratch the back of his neck and suddenly Connor is smirking. He looks like the cat that ate the canary so I'm immediately suspicious.

"Aye, ye think we should help her up the stairs then?" he asks with an amused lilt in his voice as Murphy glares over at him.

"No," Murphy interrupts him quickly, resting his hand on my lower back, "Ye head on to McGinty's and I'll help her. We'll catch up with ye there."

"Are ye sure about th-" Connor starts then jumps back to dodge a smack from Murphy, "Alright, alright! No need for violence! I'll see the two of ye later then."

He winks at me and heads off down the street cackling like a madman, earning a few strange looks from passersby. I look up at Murphy, lit by the waxy yellow glow of the streetlight and…wait, is he blushing? The tops of his ears are a flaming red. This is so weird.

And then it hits me…the reason why he wanted Connor to leave us alone.

I burst out laughing and Murphy just looks baffled so I grab his shirt and drag him up the steps behind me, my painful shoes suddenly forgotten as I say, "Come on, Murphy."


	7. Chapter 7

We barely make it inside the building before he shoves me against the wall. My head smacks into it and I feel a sharp jolt of pain but then his lips smother mine and it's gone. His hands seem to be everywhere at once. They're cupping my face and running down my neck and sliding under the hem of my shirt and hitching my leg up over his hip before I can even wrap my arms around his neck.

He nips at my bottom lip then runs his tongue along the swollen flesh and I distantly hear myself saying his name breathily.

Murphy yanks my hips hard against his, pulling my back away from the wall so he can run his fingers up my spine until his hand is resting at the base of my skull. My head tips backwards and his tongue thrusts against mine, mimicking what I know will be happening pretty soon. Hopefully in the privacy of my bedroom but it's beginning to look like we'll never make it that far.

My hips automatically rock against his, grinding and searching out the delicious friction as an ache starts low in my stomach. He groans, both hands sliding down to grip my ass and hold my pelvis firmly against his.

An odd echoing sound starts in my ears, steadily growing louder, and I wonder for a moment if I'm having a stroke or something. Then I realize that it's footsteps. Coming down the stairs.

With a pained whimper, I disentangle myself from Murphy's grip just as my neighbor, Mr. Papel, steps down into the lobby with his son at his heels. He gives us an amused smile and nods hello as Murphy grabs my hand and drags me up the stairs behind him.

I kind of forget I'm wearing heels and end up stumbling over the first few steps. But he drags me on ruthlessly, somehow managing to keep me upright until we reach the second floor.

It's agonizing and damn near impossible for me to unlock my door with the full length of his body pressed against mine from behind and his lips against my neck. When the lock finally gives way, we nearly break the door down trying to get inside. He slams it closed with his foot and I scramble to lock it behind him as his lips find mine again.

We stumble blindly towards my bedroom, tripping over a pair of discarded shoes and shedding clothing along the way. My legs hit the foot of my bed and I fall backwards with Murphy on top of me, the impact of his full weight forcing the air out of my lungs with a soft whoosh.

"Sorry," he mumbles, raising himself up on to his knees to straddle my hips.

I tug at the hem of his shirt and he pulls it off over his head, revealing a smooth expanse of lean muscle and a light, downy trail of hair leading down into his jeans. I reach up to run my hands over his broad shoulders and down his arms, marveling at how his skin can be soft to the touch but still firm because of the work-toned muscle just below it. He flexes those muscles under my touch and grins down at me, snagging one of my hands to bring to his lips, pressing warm kisses against my fingertips. His gaze is steady on mine, and I shiver beneath him as his tongue snakes around my index finger.

I jerk my hand away to grab him by the shoulders and drag him down on top of me, searching out his lips frantically. His tongue crashes against mine and I reach for his belt, struggling to get a grip and unbuckle it even as his hips grind down into mine. My fingers slip off the leather as his hard heat presses against my thigh.

"Fuck," I hiss between clenched teeth, "Fuck this belt."

I can feel the laugh rumbling through his chest just before I hear it pouring from his lips and he sits up again, quickly yanking off the cursed thing and tossing it across the room. I manage to unbutton his jeans and drag down the zipper even though my fingers are trembling.

I meet his eyes and find them watching me intently as my hand slides past the stretchy elastic hem of his boxers and down across his warm skin. My wrist aches from the awkward angle but then I feel him, hard and hot against my palm. He jumps in response, his eyes falling closed as I wrap my hand around him uncertainly.

Then he's kissing me again and my hand is sliding out of his jeans to try to push them down off his hips. He helps me, shoving his boxers down along with them and kicking the tangled mess off the end of the bed as I reach down to unbutton my own pants.

He rips my shirt off over my head, popping off two buttons in the process but I don't give a shit. Then he pulls me up off the bed, cradling me to his chest where I can kiss the warm, tattooed skin over his heart as he reaches behind me to unhook my bra. I flick my tongue over his nipple and he murmurs out a soft "mmm" as he tugs at my hair.

As I fall back against my pillow, he drops his head to kiss his way down to my breasts and I can't help but feel a twinge of self-consciousness as he stops to stare at them openly. I move my hands as if to cover myself but then his lips close around my left nipple and my brain seems to be melting from the insistent tugging sensation and the scorching heat of his mouth.

I wriggle and squirm to rid myself of my pants and he finally sits up to pull them off for me, running his hands back up my legs and over my thighs. He grabs the hem of my underwear and starts to slowly inch them down my body, grinning up at me with a devilish glint in his eye as I kick the flimsy material off aggressively.

He slides onto his belly between my legs and I shudder as I feel his hot breath against my newly exposed skin. I squeeze my eyes shut as I feel it again, closer and hotter this time, the moist heat making my head spin. I'm suddenly aching for him to touch me; every nerve in my body is focused on trying to predict what he'll do next.

He presses a kiss on my inner thigh, his tongue laving against my skin. Then his thumb brushes against the tender bundle of nerves as he slides two fingers inside me.

"Murphy," I gasp, my hips bucking up off the mattress as he slides his fingers out and then plunges them back in again.

"Look at me, girlie," he says and I open my eyes to find his gaze burning into mine.

His fingers curl inside me, rubbing up against a spot that makes me cry out sharply and throw my head back against the pillow. He does it once more and I squeeze my thighs tight around his wrist. But suddenly his fingers are gone and he looks pretty damn pleased with himself as he climbs up to kiss me again, positioning his hips between my parted thighs.

I grip his shoulders tight in anticipation as I feel him move against me. Then he's pushing inside me, stretching and filling me so perfectly that I'm almost seeing stars already. I cry out his name, my fingernails digging into his flesh involuntarily.

Murphy gasps, his eyes fluttering closed as his mouth falls open. I can feel every ridge and every pulse as his hips press right into mine and he falls still as if he's trying to catch his breath.

"Murphy, please…please," I beg a bit incoherently, my hands sliding up and down his back as if to urge him on.

His eyes pop open and bore into mine, and then his hips are moving, searching out a rhythm. When he finds it, I can't believe the moan it drags from my throat.

He moves against me, his palm almost painfully hot as he splays his fingers out across my stomach and then moves to cup my breast.

Murphy leans forward to kiss me and the next thing I know, he's forcing my legs up, bracing his elbows against the mattress as my knees bend back towards my shoulders, and his face is hovering right over mine. The deeper angle makes me cry out again and again.

"Faster, Murphy, oh God," I babble wildly and he complies, thrusting into me harder.

His eyes meet mine and I moan for him, my hands clenching at the rumpled sheets beneath me. His breath is coming out in little pants, his chest heaving.

It doesn't last long but it doesn't have to. Within a few moments, I'm falling over the edge with my back arching up off the bed as I cry out his name. His hips falter as his mouth drops to cover mine and I feel him jerk inside me, filling me with warmth before he collapses on top of me, sweaty and spent and beautiful like some sort of obscene fallen angel.

* * *

The afterglow lasts all of five minutes.

"That was so stupid," I mutter to myself as Murphy is lighting a cigarette.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see his head swivel towards me as he says, "What?"

"That was so stupid," I repeat, gripping the sheets tight around my body, "I mean it was good. Really, really good. Like, amazing. But I'm so stupid. I can't believe I forgot to tell you to put on a condom."

He looks stricken, almost dropping his cigarette, "Aren't ye…on something?"

"Yeah, but it's not…it's not that I'm worried about," I tell him, glancing hesitantly in his direction and then looking away again, "I'm talking about...like…diseases, you know?"

His expression changes and suddenly I can't tell whether he's hurt or angry. I feel a rush of anger towards myself for not being able to find the right words but I can't stop the doubt and the fear that's coursing through my veins and rendering me stupid and paranoid. The awkward, insecure side of me is rearing its ugly head.

"Ye-ye don't have to worry, I don't have anything like that," he says in a strange voice, leaning over to snub out his cigarette on the magazine lying on my bedside table.

"How-how do you know? Have you ever been…you know, tested?" I bite my lip, watching as he brushes his hand roughly over his hair, doing little to tame it.

"Well, no but-"

I cut him off, "Do you always use…protection?"

"Fucking always!" he exclaims, eyes blazing as if he can't believe we're talking about this.

"That night at McGinty's…with the girl in the closet?" I hate myself for bringing it up again.

He snorts as if it's the stupidest thing he's ever heard, "Fuck yeah. I'm telling ye…always! I just thought-I just thought that since it was ye and ye aren't…ye know…and we're kind of…together, that it'd be different," he stumbles over his words and looks away.

I can feel the ice melting, the doubt ebbing away at his rare show of vulnerability.

I find myself reaching for him with a sigh, "C'mere."

He allows me to pull him close, to lay his head down across my chest with his ear over my heart so I can run my fingers through his hair.

"I'm sorry for ruining the moment," I murmur, trailing my nails lightly across his scalp and enjoying the soft moan that rumbles in his chest, "I didn't mean to imply anything bad about you…I was just scared, you know? But you're right…it is different and I-I trust you."

He turns his head over so he can meet my eyes and smiles up at me. It's a smile that could stop your heart. Open and honest; trusting like a child.

"You're beautiful," I hear myself whisper and I'm too awed by the sight of him to feel embarrassed.

His smile just widens and he closes his eyes, nuzzling his bristly face against my chest and pressing kisses on my skin.

* * *

I never made it to McGinty's but I did send Murphy off into the darkness to meet his brother with a goodnight kiss and a warning that Connor absolutely does not need to know every detail.

But as I fall into sheets that smell like Murphy, I know he'll probably tell him anyway. Or maybe he won't even have to say a word considering their weird twin telepathy.

Speaking of Connor, I can't help but wonder when his time will come. Will it be as good or will it be kind of weird now? I wonder if he'll be similar to Murphy or…

Oh, God. I have to laugh at myself. I just slept with one twin and now I'm wondering what the other will be like in bed? This is easily the weirdest relationship ever.

But as I think back to Murphy, his weight pressing me into this very bed and his eyes burning into mine, I realize it's also the best I've ever had. By far.


	8. Chapter 8

I haven't seen the boys for a few days, not since that glorious night with Murphy, but I know they'll be waiting for me at McGinty's tonight. It's the weekend after all.

It also happens to be Christmas Eve. I'm not expecting anyone but the regulars to be bellied up to the bar because who in their right mind spends Christmas Eve at a dingy pub? So needless to say, I'm a little surprised when I step through the door and find Connor engrossed in conversation with a stranger. A blonde, female stranger to be exact.

Connor is graciously allowing the woman to cling to his arm as she nearly laughs herself right off her bar stool at something he's just said. I can't help but roll my eyes at that. Come on, Connor is pretty damn funny but that's just overkill. Anyone can see that.

I watch from the door for a moment, stubbornly refusing to succumb to the looming pangs of jealousy even though she's squeezing his bicep flirtatiously. There's no reason to be jealous. He's just sitting there drinking his beer, it's not like he's letting her give him a blowjob in the bathroom. And then she puts her hand on his leg. Fuck this.

They both look surprised when I suddenly appear on the empty stool next to Connor.

"Nicky!" he looks over at me with wide eyes and I can't tell if it's a sign of guilt or a signal for help, "Glad you're here, lass."

He leans over, aiming to kiss my cheek, but I find myself gripping the collar of his shirt and turning my head to capture his lips. As soon as it happens I know I probably seem like a crazy, possessive girlfriend but I've committed to it now so I have to see it through.

He gives in to me all too willingly, sliding half-off his stool to rest his hands on my waist.

Perhaps we're both getting a little carried away because Doc suddenly interrupts us by placing my usual drink on the bar with a clatter. I peel myself away from Connor and look up to find the adorable old man shuffling away, muttering his usual obscenities.

When I look back to Connor, his grin is nearly blinding.

"That was quite a greeting, lass," he murmurs, squeezing my hips before sliding back into his seat, "Quite a greeting."

"Uh huh, don't get used to it," I sneak a glance at the blonde who looks only slightly miffed and continue, "Where's Murph?"

"Playing darts with Rocco and losing miserably as usual," he says with a chuckle, jerking his head in their direction to show me the sad sight.

* * *

Murphy and Rocco are very persuasive. I've never played darts but somehow the two of them convince me to give it a try even though I don't completely understand the rules. Honestly, I don't think they understand them either because they're suspiciously evasive whenever I ask them a question.

"You're shite at darts, girlie," Murphy chuckles, yanking a dart out of the wall near the board, "Really, really shite."

"Shut up, you're terrible too," I pretend to toss another dart in his general direction and he ducks out of the way with a shriek.

With a very attractive disapproving glare, he sidles over to carefully remove the dart from my hand and snake his arm around my waist to pull me closer. I drag his face down closer until I feel his lips, rough on mine, and his hands sliding down to grip my ass.

I wish I could be the kind of bold girl that doesn't mind her man copping a feel in front of everyone but...I'm just not. That's not me. I nip at his bottom lip and pull away, feeling the blood rush into my cheeks at the thought of all the regulars watching this rather intimate public display of affection.

He gives my ass a good smack before he allows me to untangle myself from his embrace. I hurry off towards the bathroom, sparing a look at him over my shoulder. He winks and I stumble a bit over my own feet. Damn it. I'm almost certain my face is the color of a tomato.

I notice the crowd has thinned out some but Connor and his new friend are still right where I left them. And she's now staring daggers at me. Seriously, if looks could kill I would be dead meat.

She tugs frantically at Connor's arm as I pass by them and I see him duck his head to allow her to whisper something in his ear. Curious, I glance back at them when I reach the bathroom and find them both staring in my direction. The blonde is still glaring like I just kicked a puppy and Connor is looking highly amused.

When I emerge a moment later, Connor shoots to his feet and growls, "Nicky! Get over here, lass!"

I'll admit that I'm more than a little taken aback by his tone. He wags his finger at me and I scurry over, noticing Murphy peering at us curiously over Rocco's shoulder.

"This fine lady says she saw ye kissing another man," he glances over his shoulder at her and asks, "On the mouth?

She nods her confirmation and he barks, "On the mouth!"

The woman pipes up for the first time all night, "And she let him grab her ass! It was disgusting!"

"It's a fucking disgrace," Connor shakes his head, smacking his fist down hard enough on the bar to make me jump, "Now why would ye want to do that to me, lass? Here in front of everyone? And after all I've done for ye! After I took ye in off the street and gave ye all I had!"

My jaw drops. Is he high? Does he have some kind of brain injury? But then I notice the twinkle in his eyes and it all makes sense. I should have realized it right away since I know they're always screwing with someone's head. Grateful that it's not mine this time, I decide to play along.

"I-I'm so sorry but…you should have known that I could never be tamed, Connor," I say in the most dramatic tone I can manage, aiming for Meryl Streep and falling far short, "I can't be tied down."

"Aye, you're a wild one to be sure. But I thought ye cared, lass," he says mournfully as he ducks his head, his face hidden from the girl next to him as he flashes me a devious smile.

I take a step closer and rest my hand on his chest.

"I do, Connor, I do. It's just-oh God, I care about him too," my lips fight to curl up into a smile and I have to bite down on my tongue to wrestle the urge away.

"Fucking hell, Nicky! Who is he?" Connor demands, smacking the bar again and rattling the glasses.

He's so much better at this than I am. Both of them are great bullshitters. They'd probably make great actors.

"What's going on?" Murphy asks just then, wandering over to throw his arm over my shoulders.

Perfect timing.

Connor feigns disbelief, his gaze swiveling between the two of us wildly.

"My brother? My own fucking flesh and blood?" he roars loud enough to draw a few stares.

"His brother? You were kissing his brother?" the blonde gasps, jumping to her feet.

Murphy looks at me in shock and I can't hold it in anymore. I try, honestly I do, but the effort just results in a snort and then I'm practically rolling on the floor. Connor holds out a moment longer than me but then he's cackling too and so is Murphy, despite not knowing why.

"Wait, wait…what the hell is going on?" the blonde asks, hands on her hips and looking extremely perturbed.

Rocco sees his opportunity and sweeps in like a gallant knight on his trusty bar stool, "Don't worry about them, honey. They're a little fucked up in the head, you know? You wouldn't believe the shit those two have pulled on me."

She frowns over her shoulder at him and then looks back to Connor, "So…are you two actually together or what? I'm confused."

"Oh, we're together alright," Connor nods, motioning to Doc for another beer for himself and one for Murphy.

She ponders this, "Then she was just kissing your brother so you could…what? Play a joke on me?"

"No, no, she kisses him all the fucking time," he raises a brow at Murphy who flashes him a smug grin and tightens his arm around my shoulders.

"And…you don't mind?" she looks as if she's just seen a little green alien tap-dance across the bar.

"Why should I? They're together too, I figure she has the right to kiss him if she wants," Connor punctuates his statement by lifting his beer in the air and calling out, "Cheers!"

And still the blonde just stands there, frozen in place with an expression of horror as her brain struggles to process the situation.

"Come on, honey. Just let me buy you a drink," Rocco offers, reaching out to pat her shoulder.

She jerks away from him with a vicious look and Rocco retreats back to the safety of his drink, hair falling over his eyes like a big, scruffy puppy.

"Oh, you all are too fucking weird! Too fucking weird!" she grumbles, grabbing her things and heading for the door like she can't wait to get the hell away from us.

The door closes behind her with a bang and then everything is back to normal. But as she disappears into the night, I stare after her uncertainly. The giddy warmth of laughter is gone, leaving me feeling just a little cold.

"Well, that was fun," Connor deadpans and then he and Murphy are cackling again.

But I'm still thinking about her expression. How disgusted she looked when she realized that I was dating two brothers at the same time. Like it was crazy. Like it was something I should be ashamed of.

* * *

I'm still thinking about it a few hours later when Connor offers to walk me home. Murphy waves us on ahead, staying behind with Doc to try and sober Rocco up for his trip home.

Outside, it's finally snowing again and this time I know it's going to stick. It's clinging thickly to the pavement and dropping onto me in heavy, wet clumps.

Connor pulls me close against his side as we walk through the empty streets, running his hands up and down my arms to keep me warm. I lean into his touch, sighing at the comfort of his warmth. All around us I can see Christmas lights twinkling cheerfully from storefronts.

"Want to come back to our place, lass? It's a bit closer," Connor offers, searching out my eyes in the darkness.

"Sure," I agree absently, my gaze drifting back to the lights.

After a moment, his hands squeeze my arms tightly and he asks, "Are ye going to tell me what's been bothering ye tonight?"

I sigh, my eyes on a glowing plastic Santa Clause waving from a store window across the street, "I-I've just been thinking about what that girl said. The one from earlier? About how weird we are?"

He chuckles at that but then frowns when I don't even crack a smile, "Are ye serious?"

I just shrug again, unsure of what else to do, "She just looked so…disgusted by the idea of it."

He heaves a sigh at that and stops short, spinning me around to face him.

"And why does that matter to ye, lass? She doesn't know anything about you or us."

I look up into those insistent blue eyes and swallow hard, "But-but it is kind of weird. Isn't it?"

He cocks his head, his gaze fixed on mine, "Does it feel weird?"

I take a moment to think about it. About all of the time I've spent with them. About the night I spent with Murphy and the night I know I'm about to spend with Connor. It's not the kind of life I ever imagined for myself. Hell, I don't think it's the kind of life anyone would imagine for themselves but does that mean it's bad? I know in my head that it's kind of crazy and likely temporary but no, I can't say that it feels weird.

I finally shake my head and he smiles that smile that always seems to send a flock of butterflies fluttering through my stomach. He presses a kiss on my forehead then takes my hand, lacing his fingers through my own and tugging me towards their apartment.

"Good. Now come along, lass. I've got plans for ye."


	9. Chapter 9

We're only a few steps away from their building when Connor stops me underneath a yellow streetlight and kisses me. It's slow and sensual with none of his brother's sense of urgency but it's effective. It's the kind of kiss that sneaks up on you, creeping into your bones and leaving you weak rather than taking your legs straight out from under you.

He pulls away after a moment, leaving me wanting more as he leads me inside.

I expect him to kiss me in the elevator but he just holds my hand and stares straight ahead as the sad old contraption groans and creaks its way up to their floor.

We step into their apartment and he flicks a lamp on, righting its crooked shade before shedding his coat and t-shirt.

"Want something to drink, lass?" he asks, his back to me as he tosses them both over the beat up old cushion that apparently passes for a sofa in their world.

He's so damn casual about it that it's almost annoying.

"Uh, no," I answer, standing awkwardly by the door as he plops down in a rickety old dining chair near his bed to remove his boots.

He kicks them off and they hit the floor with twin resounding thumps. Then seconds tick by in silence as I watch him watching me.

"Well…come on then."

It may be hard to believe but I've never felt as self-conscious as I do crossing the small room to stand in front of him with his eyes watching my every move. I stop just a step away from him, unsure of what my next move should be. Do I do a striptease? Get down on my knees and unzip his jeans? I have no idea.

Fortunately I don't have to make a decision because he reaches out, hooks his fingers in my waistband, and pulls me to him until my knees bang into the chair and I scramble to catch myself on his shoulders.

He looks up at me, his free hand rising to grip the back of my head and tangle in my hair, and then he kisses me. I moan into his mouth as his tongue thrusts against mine, my head spinning. He tugs at my waistband again; his fingers fumbling as he unbuttons my jeans and slides my zipper down. He sucks my bottom lip between his, nipping at it playfully as he shoves my jeans down my thighs so I can kick them away. Then his hands are pulling at my hips, yanking insistently and forcing me to scramble forward until I'm straddling him on the chair, my legs dangling over his hips.

His hand is rough against my skin as he slides it under my shirt, tracing over my ribs before he works his fingers under my bra. I gasp as his cold fingers brush against my nipple then spread out to massage the flesh around it.

My hips rock against him involuntarily as his touch sends a jolt straight to my core. I feel him then, even through a layer of denim, hard and scorching hot against my thigh. A sharp breath hisses out from between his clenched teeth as I shift my hips and grind against him again, deliberately this time.

That hiss is all the encouragement I need to start rocking my hips steadily against his, the pressure and friction of his rigid cock straining up against me driving me onward. His lips move to my neck, sucking and nipping and I know I'll have one hell of a hickey tomorrow but it doesn't matter. It's too good, it doesn't matter.

His fingers brush against my nipple again, moving to pinch it, and I duck my head to capture his lips with mine. His hands are suddenly on my hips, gripping them and pulling them down tight as he arches his own up to meet them.

I scramble to unbutton his jeans with trembling fingers, pulling feverishly at the zipper until it rasps open. My hand slides into his boxers and then I'm touching him, so hard and hot and pulsing that I sort of lose my train of thought.

His breath, warm and ragged against my ear, snaps me out of it and I struggle to free him while scrambling up onto my knees in the small sliver of space on either side of his hips. He takes over then, nudging my underwear aside and sliding into me as I dig my fingernails into his shoulders.

"Connor," I gasp, my head dropping forward into the crease of his neck as he buries himself inside me.

"Fuck," he growls, his fingers tight enough on my thighs to leave bruises as I roll my hips down against him.

I can feel the sheen of sweat already forming on his skin, despite the cold air around us. I snake my tongue out to taste it, salty and sweet on his warm skin, as he thrusts up into me hard enough to rock the shaky chair an inch or so across the floor. It creaks in protest.

I grind down to meet him, the angle so perfect that a shameless moan is ripped from my throat.

"Stop, lass."

His hands tighten on my hips as I rock them against him wildly, focused solely on the prize at hand. It's already so close I can almost taste it.

"I said stop, lass," he repeats, his fingers finally digging painfully into my hipbones to pin me in place.

I lift my head to find him taking deep breaths in and out, his eyes squeezed shut.

"What's wrong?" I pant, reaching up to wipe away the beads of sweat on his brow.

"Not in a fucking chair," he sighs, his head lolling backwards as he sucks in a deep breath.

I shift my hips a bit and he looks up, offering me one of his patented dazzling smiles. Before I realize it, my fingers are tracing across the lines of his face and running along his lips. Eyes on mine, he reaches up to still my hand and kisses each fingertip tenderly.

It reminds me so much of Murphy that I have to laugh. Really, it should be weird but it's just not. It's somehow…cute.

"What?"

"It's-it's nothing," I reply but he just gives me a doubtful look and I quickly give in, "Murphy did the same thing."

"Aye?" he arches a brow and his lips tremble a bit as though he's trying not to laugh, "Stealing my moves is he?"

I just grin and his energy seems to return in the blink of an eye, "Come on, lass. Let's do this right."

He climbs to his feet with a grunt, taking me with him and then depositing me onto his mattress. He slides away, dragging my underwear down my legs as he does, and then stands at the foot of the bed to slide his jeans and boxers down off his hips. Then he's on top of me again, using one hand to nudge my thighs farther apart and the other to rub his tip against the tiny bundle of nerves that makes me cry out sharply and grip his sheets.

"Connor! Connor, please," I beg and he complies immediately, sliding back into me without hesitation.

He thrusts into me once, twice, and then scoops me up and rolls over onto his back. My head spins a bit as I find myself suddenly upright and straddling him.

"Ye seemed to like being on top," he grins up at me, his eyes glinting with some sort of challenge, "Now take off your fucking shirt for Christ's sake."

Blushing, I pull my shirt over my head and then unhook my bra. He pulls the straps down off my shoulders for me and then tosses it aside, staring up at me expectantly. Feeling a little uncertain now, I jerk my hips forward experimentally and he groans. A little twinge starts deep in my gut at the primal sound and it doesn't take long before I'm riding him brazenly.

My thigh muscles are burning like crazy and I probably won't be able to walk tomorrow but I don't give a shit. I grab onto his tightly muscled shoulders for support, leaning forward a bit and rocking back against him. His lips close around my nipple and I gasp, my hips faltering as my knees start to weaken under me.

Without missing a beat, Connor flips me over onto my back and takes up the rhythm, thrusting into me wildly as he hitches my knee up over his hip. His hand slides between us, his thumb brushing against just the right spot, and that's all it takes.

I cry out his name, fingers grasping for purchase as the ground seems to fall out from beneath me. A few thrusts more and he comes too, with a strangled moan and his forehead pressed against mine.

* * *

"Hey."

Ugh.

"Hey."

No.

"Wake up, girlie."

I fight against it but I can feel the heavy weight of sleep lifting off of me as something cold touches my cheek. I open my eyes to find Murphy peering down at me through the darkness, the wet sheen of his eyes glinting in a sliver of blue moonlight.

His fingers on my cheek are like ice and I reach up to wrap my own hand around them instinctively, squeezing them to impart some of my warmth. As my eyes adjust more fully to the darkness, I realize that he's kneeling next to Connor's bed in just his boxers and Connor is still snoring away next to me, his arm slung over my waist.

"What is it, Murphy?" I whisper, pushing the sheets away to sit up.

"Come get in bed with me, I'm cold," he murmurs and I watch as he lists a bit to the side, catching himself on the edge of the mattress.

I suddenly realize that he's a little drunker than he'd been when we left McGinty's and I can't help but wonder what had happened to "sobering Rocco up".

"Come on," he whines, tugging at my hand as he tries to stand up.

I glance over at Connor to find he hasn't stirred so, with a sigh, I roll away from him and leave his warm bed for Murphy's cold one.

"Did you just get in?" I whisper, sliding between his sheets and yanking his blanket up to my chin.

He climbs in beside me, his skin icy-cold against mine as he pulls me tight against his chest.

"Mmm, you're warm," he says softly, his voice muffled as he nuzzles his face against the top of my head.

I rub my hands over his bare arm as I tuck my face into the crook of his neck, hoping to return some warmth to his body before we both freeze to death. I can't resist inhaling deeply, sucking in Murphy's scent.

"What have you been doing, playing in the snow? You're freezing," I shiver as his fingertips slide down my back.

"Wanted to give ye plenty of time," he chuckles, slurring just a bit, "Didn't want to walk in on anything, ye know."

"So what did you do?"

"Just kind of wandered around, fucking watched it snow…polished off a bottle of-," he drifts off as he rolls over onto his back to burrow deeper under the covers, "It's going to be a white Christmas, ye know."

"I think it already is," I snuggle against his side to rest my head on his chest, our legs tangling under the sheets.

I almost scream when his cold feet rub against mine but he slides his arm around me and I feel too snug to complain.

"Ah, well…Merry Christmas then, girlie," he murmurs sleepily, his arm tightening around me, and I can't stop the goofy smile that takes over my face.

I trace lazy circles on his fuzzy chest, listening as his breathing starts to even out. The smell of him, the vibrations of his heart beating, and the soft sounds of Connor snoring just a few feet away all conspire to give me the best night's sleep I've ever had.


End file.
